Vicissitudes
by Parsat
Summary: Vicissitudes: The natural changes and mutations of daily life visible in nature and human affairs. These are the events that unite the Gunther family under Welkin and Alicia.
1. Rosalyn Gunther

**After completing a large Valkyria Chronicles transcript, I was extremely intrigued by the universe that the game introduced. Really, VC is such a lush game and so ripe for development that I had to take it upon myself to go where SEGA did not go and has not gone. What they have developed past VCI, I've been pretty disappointed with (namely, VCII, and by the looks of it, VCIII). I have some very detailed outlines of the expanded universe I've created, and if this story seems confusing at first, consider that everything will be revealed in due time.  
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**There are three stories in the saga_: Beginnings and Ends_ is chronologically the first story in the saga, detailing the exploits of Belgen Gunther and others in EWI; _Peace Breaks Out _tells the events of the year after the end of the Gallian conflict in EWII; and _Vicissitudes_ relates the stories of the Gunther family. I plan to concurrently update the three as we move along. I'm very excited about this, since this has been the first time I've planned something of this scale. I hope I will make things interesting for you, reader.

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**Rosalyn Gunther**

**March 22, 1997  
**

The day my Grandfather died, my Grandmother was despondent. He was 84, a rare feat for a Gunther. After all, we do have a reputation for an early grave. Perhaps his longevity was due to the fact that he had something to live for every day: waking to the smell of bread, bugs to discover, children to teach...If death had not caught him sleeping, I'm certain he could have fought it off, just as he had fought off the Empire so long ago. How much had he survived through in all those stories he had told us?

But my Grandmother. The day after Grandfather's death was the first day in decades she didn't bake in the morning. She simply sat at the table, gazing down at her hands knobbled with bulging veins, yet smooth from a life of kneading bread. She was 81, with no signs of unhealthiness whatsoever. We all knew that this was from the _gift_, but she always denied it. After the war, there was only one time where she used the power of the Valkyria again, but it was out of complete necessity, and it is a secret that only the royal family and our family know.

Still, Grandfather's death wasn't such a great surprise. Even before I was born veterans of the War were being buried. Every Veteran's Day the seats reserved to the veterans always seemed one or two seats less than the year before. I knew this because I had gone every year to see my Grandpa speak, and every year my uncle Theimer would drive the Edelweiss to the grounds.

My Grandfather's body lay in one of our guest rooms. In death, he still had that little smile on his face, the face Grandmother called his "curious face." Then again, Grandfather was always curious, and so he was always smiling.

Within the next day, the Gunther family arrived at the Gunther house. Many came from Randgriz: of Grandfather's children, Isara, Theimer, Liesl, as well as many of Grandfather's grandchildren. My cousins came from all over Gallia: Kloden, Barious, even some around Naggiar. It's an amazing thing how the Gunther clan managed to grow so large from only one love that sprouted in the war…Grandmother always said that love was like a lion's paw, and that where it flourished it would spread its seeds and multiply.

My father, Faldio Gunther, was now officially the second Viscount Bruhl, the noble position given to Grandfather by Archduchess Cordelia herself for our family's merit. To our family, though, it was just a name: We felt no different from the normal people, and from a young age, we were educated and raised just like any normal Gallian family. If my grandparents ever disliked anyone, it was the nobles who sought to flaunt their status in everything. History knows of all the trouble that caused us.

Luckily, the manor was big enough to accommodate everyone. Many extensions had been done over the decades, and years of family reunions had guided our decisions. Bruhl was the homeplace of all of us…it was in our title and in our blood. Every Gunther baby that was born was given a sprig of Bruhlian lion's paw, and baptized by the sight of the Mill. We never forgot that.

In a way, Grandfather's passing was a blessing in itself. He was the oldest in our family and the first to go; he did not see anyone in his family beat him to the grave. He always told us that death was natural, and he wished that the natural way would stay in our house: that the oldest pass on first to leave room for the new.

So with all my kin in our father's house, there are no tears as we all gaze at his body in the candlelight. He is peaceful; he is at rest. Welkin Gunther is finally one with nature.


	2. Alicia Gunther

**Alicia Gunther**

**October 25, 1949**

It took me a little while to find you, but I'm glad I remembered where you were since last time. I haven't been to a Veteran's Day in Randgriz for a long time; business with the bakery is always greatest around this season.

But you know what? Something happened this year that made me want to see you again in this time of year. Something happened to make me realize that all these years I've never apologized to you, nor accepted your apology.

I remember that day very clearly. It was July 8, during the summer, when the children were out of school. Normally I would have my little ones help me bake and look over the customers, but seeing as the day wasn't a busy one, I let them out to play. It was perfectly natural…Welkin and I want our children to spend as much time outside as they can. It's simply good for them, regardless of any big example from nature Welkin has to explain it.

I remember watching them run off around the plaza. Isara, my eldest at twelve, was the ringleader, carrying four-year-old Faldio on her back. Theimer was skipping on the cobblestones, while Liesl and Lilly raced about as they always did. It seemed that day that they wanted to stay around the plaza; normally they would go off to the creek or to the Lion's Paw Meadow.

Two Town Watch stopped at my truck to buy some bread. They were on horseback, as some are in the habit of doing. I didn't think anything about it. In the background I could hear Theimer count the revolutions of the mill, Isara trying to teach Faldio a hand game of hers, Liesl and Lilly racing about…

The Town Watch on horseback had just started to gallop away when I heard a set of screams. I have only been frozen with fear twice in my life. The first was during that first confrontation at Bruhl, and the second time came upon me at that very moment. It was the gasps of bystanders that brought me out of that, and I think at that moment I ran the fastest I have ever run in my life. Those screams were worse than the screams of my dying comrades almost fifteen years ago…these were the screams of my children.

Thank God Isara inherited the leadership of her fathers. She had called my name almost immediately, and then looked for a pulse just as first aid had taught her, shouting at the Town Watch to fetch Ragnaid. As soon as I had arrived at her side she explained what had happened. Liesl and Lilly had been racing around the plaza, not mindful of their surroundings when they ran into the path of the mounted Town Watch. The Town Watch in front of Lilly had managed to just barely stop his horse, but for Liesl, who had been winning the race, it was too late.

I told Isara to get Welkin and Martha over as fast as possible. The Town Watch had ridden away, but I knew that they would be coming back with backup. One of the bystanders who lived nearby arrived with Ragnaid.

I know I've been talking really detailed to you so far, but to describe what Liesl was like…I can't do it. We all saw horrific things in the war, and you know that I'm the maternal type…can you imagine my thoughts at the wounds of my daughter, her blood staining the cobblestones, just lying there totally still? I wished that it had been me bleeding there instead of my beautiful daughter.

Welkin and the Emergency Town Watch arrived at the same time. I flew to Welkin and held him, finally letting loose my emotions. I knew that with those wounds there was nothing we could do at the moment. We had to leave it to the Field Medic and the Town Watch to evacuate her to the hospital.

The moment she arrived, they had to perform surgery. Liesl was still alive, but she had suffered a great deal of blunt trauma and bleeding from the impact. Martha came to take the children back to the house, and it was just Welkin and me, sitting there outside the operating room, gripping each other's hands in fear.

Welkin said nothing. He held my hand so tightly his knuckles were white, almost as if he were afraid to let me go. It was at that point I thought of you. Was I living the scenario that had happened all those years ago, but as the observer this time? It was at this point that I thought about all the pain I must have caused Welkin all that time ago.

The doctors finally came out of the operating room. Liesl's condition had stabilized, they said, but she had lost so much blood and received such trauma to her body and head that she might never be the same again. I thought the statement was preposterous. Regardless of whether she had changed for good or bad, she was still Liesl Gunther, my beautiful daughter.

We fell asleep at her bedside that night. My dreams were filled with the images of lances and red eyes and blue flames…it grew so bad that I woke up. It was if I had woken from one nightmare to another; my eyes were still filled with the image of blue flames. My eyes widened with horror as I realized that they were arising from my daughter…her blood had been activated by that accident.

I woke Welkin immediately. We were at a loss for words; we knew the only way she was to be revived was to be given that terrible lance. But we could not. How could we subject someone so young and innocent to the weight and power of the Valkyrur? What if she could not control her power? Who could stop her then?

We didn't sleep for the rest of the night. As morning approached the flames faded. We hoped that that would be the end, that her mysterious body would have healed all wounds. But it was not to be. Not only had her wounds not healed, she was running a high fever. The doctors could not explain it. She showed no signs of infection, but she was extremely hot. Intravenous Ragnaid, usually a fever reducer, only made it worse.

It continued for two more days, and every day her life continued to slip away. They had tried everything, but they knew nothing. Only we knew, and we broke in the end. We dispatched a private telegram to House Randgriz to loan the lance and shield to us. It came under armored car in the middle of the night.

As soon as I saw the lance and shield, I immediately felt them calling to me to pick them up and feel that power rush through me again. The urge was so overpowering I almost collapsed. But I resisted. I mustered all my willpower and told Welkin to take it.

It was now about midnight, and by this time Liesl was glowing, although more faintly than she had that first day. Supporting myself with her bedpost, I told Welkin to hold the lance and shield above the girl, our girl. There were tears in our eyes…I saw the heavy lance and shield tremble in his arms as he placed them on Liesl.

The moment the weapons touched the flame, it was as if Liesl was magnetically attracted to them. She sat up and grasped the weapons, opening her eyes. They were red as blood, and totally devoid of emotion. Her hair, lush and brown like mine, was silvery-white, and her skin was pale as death. So this was the visage of a new Valkyria.

Now that her hands grasped the weapons, the sudden temptations were gone. But it was at that moment that I could not restrain myself any longer. I embraced her, now sobbing uncontrollably, that I had caused my child to become the goddess of death as I had been, as Selvaria had been, as our mothers from long ago had been.

Then she returned my embrace. That slack, unfeeling feeling faded instantly, and she was now the one supporting me. I was shocked. I looked at her face. It was the face of ultimate calm, the face I had seen on those who had died for what was right. She smiled.

"Mommy…it's all right. I'm here."

That very moment I found my answer to that question I had asked Selvaria so long ago, how one could deal with the weight of being a Valkyria. The heart of a Valkyria was not war. That had been the fatal mistake of Selvaria and Maximilian. It was love. It was an answer only a child of peace could give.

"Liesl…sleep tight. We'll be right next to you."

I laid her glowing self back down in the bed, taking the weapons from her hands and passing them to Welkin. As I did I felt the power run through me, and the room blazed with my own flame. I was a Valkyria again. Like I did every night, I laid her down, pulling the blankets over her, and then I kissed her good night. With a flash it became dark again.

"Good night, Liesl. I love you so much."

"Good night, Mommy. I love you too."

There were tears in my eyes as Welkin and I went outside to return the lance and shield to the armored car waiting outside. Amid the light of the moon we watched it drive into the darkness.

"Welkin. She would have been a more powerful Valkyria than me. I know she would have."

We held each other in that way we did so long ago.

"Alicia…what we did was right. That was true victory."

So here I stand before you, Faldio Landzaat, alone. Fourteen years ago, you chose to use me as a tool of power, as a weapon of war, as a justified means to the end. But I know now that in that last battle you were begging me for forgiveness in every action, and I was selfish not to give it to you. Take my forgiveness and rest in peace.

But I was wrong too. I was wrong to think that nothing good could arise from your actions. I was wrong to think that I held the entire burden of the world on my shoulders, when it was but the corruption of power manifest in me. Faldio…please forgive me.


	3. Lilly Gunther

**Lilly Gunther**

**July 13, 1954**

When I was ten, I lived at my godfather Largo's for a summer. An organic farmer by trade, he lived some thirty miles away from Vasel, where he sold his crop. Although he was quite far away from us, I always loved to take the trip to stay at Largo's; it always meant playing with his son (and my future husband) Milo, hugs that smelled strongly of the earth, and of course, his veggies in my mother's cooking.

While this time my mother and the rest of my family did not come with me, I was still excited to actually be able to stay for three months on the farm instead of five days. In retrospect, I'm not sure why I was so excited to be away from my family. I have always been the shyest among my siblings, and growing up with four of them had made it so that I was never far from someone familiar to me. In a twist of irony, too, I stood out the most in my family: I did not have the straight brown and dirty blonde hair of my parents or the rest of my siblings, I had a head of flaxen curls as my grandmother had. This made me the object of many unwanted affections at school, and most of the time I stayed in the bakery helping my mother.

At the farm, though, things were different. I could run free with the bountiful earth underneath my feet. I could stand with my arms outstretched and pretend I was just another vegetable—a ear of maize, perhaps, or a yellow squash under the sun, or a sunflower. I could stay out in the fields and do some work with Largo and Milo…although they always let me off with the easier tasks because I was the best cook in our little summer family.

To describe everything that happened in that summer would take an enormous chunk of time. So many memories…no, a good storyteller does not tell all her stories at once. I do want to share, though, one of the most memorable experiences I had with my godfather Largo that remains especially fresh in my mind.

It was a warm midsummer night, and Largo and I were lying on our backs in the middle of a grassy meadow. The moon was but a sliver in the night, which made the luciferants and fireflies flitting about all the more beautiful. I told Largo everything my dad had told me about them, even though nature was more of Isara and Liesl's specialties than mine.

"Heh heh, Lilly," he replied very simply after I had spoken for a long time. I loved his voice and the way it called my name; after all, he was the one who came up with that nickname when I was very little. No one called me Camille, the namesake of my grandmother; everyone called me Lilly.

"Lilly, I'm not sure who yeh really remind me of. I look at you one way, and you're just like your mother. I look at you another way, and you're just like your daddy."

Largo liked to do that a lot…but then again, all of mom and dad's friends seemed to like figuring out which parent us Gunther children resembled.

"Does it matter, Largo?"

"Well sure Lilly! Wouldn't be good if we all turned out the same…we all got somethin' to add to the mix. I mean, look at Milo…that kid has Elle's bookwormin' all over 'im, but he's got his practical smarts too, just like a farmer should."

There was silence for a long while as fat, fuzzy junebugs buzzed about and lights of blue and yellow mingled together in the dark sky. The smell of fresh loam was heavy in the air.

"Largo?"

"Uh-huh?"

"What did you think of my mom and dad when you first met them?"

He took a deep breath, exhaling contentedly and shifting a bit in the fresh soil.

"I gotta say that I didn' like 'em at first. I thought those young people were just so full of it. Your dad's fourteen years younger than me, and your mom's seventeen younger, and all of a sudden they were my officers. I fought in the first war when your _grandfather_ was general of the Gallian Armed Forces. But if they taught me anything, they taught me not to judge from first appearances. And I've especially learned not to assume anything about you young'uns."

The air was completely still, and it seemed that even the junebugs had stopped buzzing about. Not even a cricket seemed to stir at that moment. All of a sudden, I thought I heard a small movement in the soil. I sat up quickly with a gasp.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought there was something moving underground."

He chuckled at me. "Shh…it's nothin' to be worried about. Just lie down there and you'll see what it is."

With some trepidation I rested my head back down on the soft ground. I had been a bit scared at first, but after hearing Largo's casual tone of voice I couldn't help but wonder…what was it?

_Pip. Pop._

The sound was coming from the ground right next to my head. I turned my head to look at the ground beside me and saw something poking out of the ground, glistening under the soft lights. Slowly the thing started to emerge from the ground, wriggling and pulsating a bit. It was an earthworm…followed by another, and then another.

"Now ya see?"

"Why do they leave the ground like that?"

"Well, usually they're all nice and cozy down there, but sometimes they just wanna have some fresh air."

"You like them a lot, right?"

"Well, Lilly, if it weren't for them this soil wouldn't be good at all for growin' veggies. Besides, they're kinda cute. Ya wanna feel one?"

"I'll pick one up myself."

I picked one up. It was wet and wriggly as I thought, but I thought underneath its body I could feel some kind of fuzz.

"Why does the bottom feel kinda like hair?"

"Those bristles? Well, I guess your daddy could give you the whole science explanation…I think they're just to help it move around in the soil."

The worm was kind of cute. I petted it and placed it back on the soil. More faint pops could be heard as the worms broke out of the soil.

"You know," Largo finally broke in, "I finally figured out who you're most like. You're just like your aunt Isara, bless her soul. Polite to everyone, a little shy, got an eye for detail, and curious as heck. You might have never known her, Lilly, but don't ever think she ain't watching every step of your way up there."

He seemed to breath a lot more deeply now, speaking in a quiet but very passionate way. Until that point I had never thought it possible. When Largo was quiet, he was quiet, but when he was passionate his exuberance seemed to explode out of him. Not this time. I wondered how my aunt could have had such a powerful impression on such a powerful man, but I kept the thought to myself, because he wasn't done.

"Even in her last moments…I know she believed that even the smallest things could make even a little pop in the world…just pop up out of the ground into the night like these little earthworms. Maybe the world might be too loud for us to hear them, maybe we're too busy workin' or fightin' or playin' sometimes, but if we stop and listen the little pops'll make themselves heard. Don't you ever forget that Lilly, that's your aunt Isara talking to ya."

A single star opened up in the dark night sky, adding its light to the blue and yellow floating around me. I closed my eyes, and as sleep overtook me there was only the smell of fertile loam and the sound of earthworms making the slightest stir in the world.


	4. Salix Lipponen

**Salix Lipponen**

**March 17, 1945**

I stand before the proudest marker I ever carved, a little footstone for a little grave in Kloden. I was only fourteen and still an apprentice in stonemasonry, and my methods were most certainly rough, but the fulfillment of allowing the name of the dead to echo through time gives me a strong sense of peace.

Although the letters are not particularly neat, I carved them more sincerely than I ever had. Little tendrils of moss have crept up onto the slate, but it is still very legible.

_HERE LIES_

_FRITZ RUBLEHELM_

_1917-1935_

Before the grave is a worn, dirty helmet perched atop an old, rotten rifle of Imperial make. It has been there almost as long as I have been alive, for a decade the only reminder that some soldier had lived to die without a name. And yet, I will not forget that moment when we finally discovered the details inscribed on this marker, or rather, the moment where the details discovered us.

Near the grave is a log cabin owned by my godfather, Welkin Gunther, the Viscount Bruhl. Shortly after the second Great War, he bought the cottage that originally stood there as well as the surrounding land, and expanded the cottage into the cozy cabin that stands today. He took his children and me to that cabin in Kloden many times so we could see the bountiful wildlife there.

It was on the weekend of my tenth birthday that the event happened. Because it was my birthday, my godfather took me to the Kloden cabin, which I loved to go to, as well as a friend of my choice to accompany me. I chose his daughter Isara, at the time a plucky little eight-year-old who I had secretly developed an affection towards.

I remember the trip to Kloden very clearly. It was by no means the first time I had been to the cabin, but for some reason the colors of the forest seem to come alive more than ever. Spring was here, with hues of green and yellow and brown I had never seen.

The rivers under the bridges sparkled with trout, which my godfather remarked was unusual. They were migrating early this year; the last time he had seen them migrate this early was ten years ago on the day I was born.

We arrived at the cabin after a very long ride. Although we had set out quite early in the morning, by the time we arrived it was already late in the afternoon. My godfather had driven quite a long way and was understandably tired, so he let us free to roam about while he took a short nap.

Isara and I went out the back door, as we usually did, to explore the little cold springs that were scattered throughout the forest. I remember Isara bringing a little pail with her, just in case there were crayfish to be found. As we left down the path we crossed the helmet perched atop the gun, which had been there for as long as the two of us could remember. I remember our conversation very clearly as we walked.

"I wonder why there would be an Imperial helmet here," Isara said as we approached a little spring. "It seems strange that an Imperial soldier would be buried in Gallia."

"Maybe he was all alone and couldn't get back home."

"But don't you think his family would look for him? I mean, if we got lost right now, Dad would look for us."

"I guess…but at least we're in the same country."

She had spotted a crayfish about an arm's length underwater and was trying to grab it by the tail.

"I think it's sad that his family couldn't find him. Mom told me that his last words were to call for his mom."

"Yeah," I replied. "She must be wondering where he is."

Isara dropped the crayfish into the pail, and we continued along our way.

"I guess it was right for Mom and Dad to try to treat him. Even if he was an enemy."

"I hear they said they almost got captured because they were trying to treat him."

"That would be bad. Then you wouldn't have a godfather and I wouldn't have a Dad."

Our thoughts turned to our classmates whose parents were never there. Some of them only had one parent, but many of them were orphans. Even from a young age we realized that the faces they made when they saw us with our parents were faces of sadness, faces of envy.

"I just think it's so sad," Isara said. "To not have a mom and a dad. Then there would be no one to comfort you or to make you feel warm or to give you food when you're hungry. I don't ever want to lose my parents."

"Me neither."

The rest of our adventure went quite smoothly. We caught three more crayfish, and saw some rare little wildflowers growing. Although Godfather had always told us not to disturb nature, there was a little bloodwort that was so pretty I had to pick it. I gave it to Isara, gently tucking it into her long hair. The dainty little red petals were perfect resting there. We walked hand in hand innocently as children of peace, Isara with pail and crayfish in hand.

As we emerged from the path we could see a person in front of the helmet and gun. It looked like Isara's father from a distance, and down the path we shouted:

"Godfather!" "Dad!"

We ran over only to find that it was not him. The man was blonde and thin, with sad gray eyes, not Godfather's warm brown ones. He was kneeling before the grave. In his hand he held something shiny…only when we had stopped before him did we see that they were dogtags. It looked like the man had something to say. His mouth was moving but no sound came out.

"Umm…mister? Who are you?" Isara spoke up. She was a very curious one.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, children. Are your parents here?"

I broke in. "My Godfather is in the cabin. I'll go get him."

We ran into the cabin, setting the pail up onto the counter as we woke Isara's dad and told him to come outside to the grave.

As my Godfather approached the man at the grave stood up and saluted.

"No need for the formalities. I am Welkin Gunther. What's your name?"

"My name is Dieter Rublehelm. I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, sir. I understand this is your property, and I promise not to stay too long. I am the brother of the man who is buried here."

"Fritz?"

The man was taken aback. "How did you know?"

Welkin bowed his head. "During the war my wife and I were stuck behind enemy lines as soldiers. We took refuge in this cabin because she had sprained her ankle, and in the middle of the night this Imperial soldier stumbled in. He was severely wounded. Even if we had the proper medical treatment, his wounds were too severe. All we could do was hold his hand."

Our visitor collapsed to his knees before my Godfather, who protested the treatment, but the man persisted.

"I am sorry, but you deserve my thanks. It has taken me years to find Fritz's old squadmates and find where he perished. Our poor mother…she didn't make it. She loved him so much. Loved him so much she pined away for him."

He started to weep bitterly. I don't know why I started to tear up as well. I was a sensitive soul.

Dieter regained his composure after a little while, still kneeling. He looked up at my godfather, and asked with a whisper: "Tell me…what were his final words?"

Godfather nodded sadly. "He was calling for his mother. He was reaching out blindly, as if he was looking for her…my wife reached out and held his hand. She talked to him like a mother, and he passed in peace. I know it."

Dieter was agape. "That night my mother had a dream that she was holding Fritz again, as she did when he was a boy. He must have seen her!"

He looked down with some measure of despair, but in a few moments he moved again. There was a bag slung about his back, which he opened. There were two jars: One was full of gray ash, and the other was full of soil. He took the jar of ash with shaky hands, trying to open it, but trembling so much that he could not. Godfather nodded at us. I took the jar of ash, and Isara took the jar of soil from him.

"Thank you, children. Do as I tell you. Pour out the ashes onto the ground in front of the grave."

I slowly poured it out in front, but then I had an idea. I walked around as I poured, making a thick layer in a ring around the gun and the helmet. The man seemed to protest at first, but he closed his mouth and smiled faintly.

"That is good," said he as I poured the last of the ashes. "Now you, Miss, pour out the soil on top of the ash."

With the utmost care she poured the soil out. It was a light brown, a bit like clay, but quite loose and soft. She covered the ashes until no gray could be seen. Dieter bent down and patted the newly scattered earth. He took the helmet off the rifle to hang the dogtags on the rifle, then placed the helmet back.

"Finally, Fritz can rest with our mother under the soil of our hometown."

We bowed our heads in silence. Then Isara did something that this grave will never forget. She bent down, taking the little bloodwort flower we had picked in the forest from her hair and gently burying it in the soil and ash. She looked at me, as if I had something of my own to do. I did.

I ran back into the cabin, grabbing the pail off the counter. Gingerly I tossed the crayfish into the sink, leaving behind only the pure spring water that we had collected to sustain the crayfish for the trip. I ran back as fast as I could, taking care not to spill a drop. At the grave, I lightly sprinkled the water all around the ring and around the flower, emptying the pail.

Our visitor looked at the two of us children and embraced us without warning.

"Thank you, children. Fritz bless you two!"

He looked at us in the face, now.

"What are your names?"

"Isara." "Salix."

He nodded. "I will not forget the two of you."

As he got to his feet and made ready to leave, my Godfather handed him something.

"Dieter, this may be my property, but your kin are buried here. Take this key to my cabin. You'll always be welcome here. Do you need provisions?"

"I thank you too much. I have enough for the return home. You and your children, bless them!"

He bowed deeply and turned around, disappearing into the forest path.

It has been forty years since. I never saw him again…but there would be times when we would enter the cottage and find gifts on the counter—a pocket-watch, or a little silver bracelet—and we would know that Fritz was not alone.

But as I stand here, I know that Fritz is never alone. Before the little footstone I carved so long ago, a circle of dainty scarlet flowers stands around the rifle that marks his grave. What we thought dead had taken root and begotten life.


	5. Isara Gunther

**Isara Gunther**

**February 11, 1960**

"May this child grow to become a woman, strong and proud, knowing no other path other than that which she is called to. May her kindness and compassion win the hearts of many, and may she have the fortitude to resist her enemies. May she grow to be fair as the flower and free as the river, and may her descendants be as the waving grass of the hill…"

Yaron, the old Darcsen elder, holds our child as we stand with eyes closed and heads bowed in prayer. Besides his prayer, Mill Plaza is silent except for the creaking of the revolving mill and a cool wind whirling through the town. With eyes still closed and head still bowed, I reach for my husband Tisza's hand, for mine are cold.

Twenty-three years ago, when I was born, my parents made the momentous decision to name me in a traditional Darcsen ceremony. You might have imagined the conflict that arose. The offspring of a Euro and a Valkyria named in the Darcsen way? It had never been heard of!

But the Darcsen believe that a name has power in it—the power to define life, the power to stir up or pacify, the power to be known. Perhaps my name really did have power: When they heard the name I was to receive—which means "turbid river" in the Darcsen language—they ceased their argument. To name a child after a dead relative was something that needed to be blessed in a naming ceremony, Darcsen or not.

And so, twenty-three years ago, I was named and inducted into the Hosefa clan, the most common Darcsen clan in Gallia, out of twelve Europan clans. They wrapped me the shawl of my aunt, for I was taking on her name. It is the shawl I wear right now, bearing the clan's traditional colors and patterns.

My child is swaddled in her own shawl of tan and maroon, the clan of her father by blood and her mother by naming. It is a shawl that I knitted myself, as is my duty as the mother.

Yaron holds the shawl and bundled baby with wizened eighty year old hands. Sixty years ago, he held my aunt's mother Sonah in his first naming ceremony. Over forty years ago he held my aunt Isara with those hands. Twenty-three years ago, he held me, and now he holds the fourth generation in his arms. I can hear his gratitude at such a blessing through his prayer, which is now in Darcsen instead of Euro.

Nearby, I can hear a whispered tune…it is the only voice that speaks besides Yaron's. It is my godmother Rosie, who had always taken the time in between her many tours and concerts to teach me and train me. I try to focus on her words. It seems that she, too, is saying a prayer for my child, my husband, and me. Her prayer-song is in fluent Darcsen: Ever since the death of my aunt she had actually learned the language to pay respect to her. Although barely a whisper, to my ears her words seem to harmonize with Yaron's chant.

Yaron's prayer ends with a final "amen," and we open our eyes to a bright world. The baby smiles serenely, giggling a little as the elder raises her up into the air.

"Hear our prayer, and hear this child's name. The child's name is Anya! Anya of the Hosefa!"

A cheer breaks out in the little crowd of family, friends, and fellow clanspeople. They shout Anya's name in affirmation. Thus the first half of the tradition is done.

The second is much less ancient, but still just as important: the Gunther baptism. It isn't a real religious baptism, like the Yggrdists do, but it was a family tradition that just took on the name. It started shortly after I was born, when my father took me out for my first walk outside around Bruhl. A very informal walk, but he remembered the tour he walked and the words he spoke, and as he performed it with our siblings, the Bruhlers took note of it. Pretty soon, he was the one performing the baptism to all the children born in Bruhl.

Yaron passes Anya to my father, who takes her up and rocks her a little bit. She looks up at him with curious dark eyes, the eyes of the Darcsen, maybe even the eyes of my aunt. He smiles, and with that he begins.

"Hey Anya. I'm glad you could come here at Bruhl to join us. It's a nice day in February, and the wind is blowing a nice breeze all around. Can you smell that air, Anya?"

He pauses as if she could answer him.

"This is Bruhl. See this place we're standing in? This is Mill Plaza, the heart of Bruhl. It's called Mill Plaza because of that big windmill over there. If you ever remember seeing anything about your hometown, remember the mill."

He tilts Anya up so that she can see the mill slowly churning the air.

"The hills outside Bruhl are a beautiful place. The fertile soil feeds the grass and the flowers and the crops alike. You might not learn how to walk for another year, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be able to feel it under your feet."

My mother comes over with the small chest that carries baptismal items. From the box he takes a little bit of Bruhlian soil and rubs it on her foot. Anya gurgles a bit. It might have been ticklish.

"There's a river that flows outside here too. It's nice and cool, good to drink and play in, and in two months the trout will be coming to spawn. Maybe your parents can take you to see them; they're really great swimmers," he continued with some excitement and ad-libbing. "But in case you can't, here's some of the river for you."

He takes a vial from the little box and sprinkles some of the water onto Anya's face. As she opens her mouth in a little bit of protest, he drops some of the river water in there for her to taste. That was the baptism.

"And of course, you should never forget Bruhl's flower. It's all over the hills, it's on the coat of arms of the Viscount Bruhl, it's your grandmother's favorite flower, and a little bit grows in every garden around here. It's the lion's paw."

From the chest he takes a freshly-plucked lion's paw, with its dainty white flowers and green stem, and puts it in Anya's hand. She grasps it with her small, delicate fingers, not knowing what it is, but somehow comprehending that it is a thing of beauty. My father then passes Anya to my mother, and stoops down until he is at eye level with the baby.

"Look around you, Anya. You're surrounded by your friends and family. Bruhlers all. Your father, Tisza, is here. Your mother, Isara, is here. Your grandpa Welkin is here, and your grandma Alicia is holding you right now. Your godfather, Salix Lipponen, is going to make sure that you grow up strong and healthy, as I did to him. Your aunts and uncles and cousins, Gunthers all, are here. You are a Gunther just as much as the rest of us. Never forget that. When trouble comes, or when times are rough and you need comfort, come back home to Bruhl. We'll take care of you, just as we're taking care of you now."

My father and mother kiss the child on the forehead, and then pass her back to me. I take a good look at her: Although she has Darcsen eyes, the crop of hair she is starting to grow is brown. She is sure to look like me, and by extension her grandmother. People have always said that I was the spitting image of my mother while I was growing up, after all. She has the innate curiosity of her grandfather, but she also has the hardiness and the patience of her fathers. The best of everything.

My parents look at me and smile. They know my feelings perfectly…the feeling to hold your little one and wish her the very best in life. That feeling of hope that my child will change the world, it is a blessing that passes down from generation to generation.

And it all starts anew here with Anya, my perfect girl.


	6. Theimer Gunther

**Theimer Gunther**

**February 22, 1957**

Of the family heirlooms that have passed through the Gunther family from generation to generation—the Darcsen shawl, a dried ring of lion's paw, the red bandannas—none holds more pride and more history of our roots than the Edelweiss herself. She stands at 6.64 meters long, 3.43 meters wide, and 2.65 meters high, weighing 32 tonnes. Although she is no longer used as a weapon of war, she is constantly upgraded to modern specifications as a sign of readiness and as a sign of respect to the one has seen so much.

It has remained _in_ my family ownership since my grandfather, although it has not always remained _with_ my family. For many years after the Second Great War, it stayed at Fort Amatriain in the absence of a person in our family who could understand its intricacies. All that changed one night on my fifteenth birthday.

I was working in the garage, late at night. I remember clearly what my project was: I was working on building a truck that could keep things cold and fresh, a refrigeration truck. It was for my mother to expand her food business, as well as for my Uncle Largo and the farmers. I anticipated finishing by summer, when it would be ready for experimentation and for the fall harvest.

So engrossed in my work was I that I did not notice two figures stepping into the garage.

"I hate to interrupt a fellow engineer while he's in the mode."

I did indeed hate when people did that, but I couldn't hate that voice.

"Zaka! And Kreis! Oh, thank goodness you guys are here. I was just working out the details for a refrigeration truck, and I could use some help with the kinks…"

I was the only one of my siblings to have two godfathers, both of whom were brilliant engineers and mechanics: Zaka, the famous toy maker, and Kreis Czherny, the genius of flight. But engineers are practical people; they do not care about status, they care about results. When I was very young, they told me that as soon as I was able to build something of service to others, I would be able to call them by name.

That chance was not long in coming. As a young child I contented myself with taking apart watches and clocks, and then reassembling them as best as I could (which was not always successful, much to my parents' chagrin). Pretty soon, though, I was good enough to build my own grandfather clocks at the age of seven. It took Isara and Liesl's entrepreneurship and charm to get them sold, but finally I felt that I had proved my worth. By the age of ten, I had received my first commission, which was to install a clock into the windmill. I was certainly honored at the inauguration of the clock, but for me the greatest pride was to call Uncle Zaka "Zaka" and Uncle Czherny "Kreis."

But I digress. This is not about my own dislike of formalities. This is about the honor I've been able to serve for decades now.

In the distance, the ring of the clock tower I had built could be heard. It boomed twelve times. Zaka and Kreis simply stood there, smiling.

Zaka cracked his knuckles. "You hear that? What occasion is it today?"

"Oh, well...hmm…it's my birthday, isn't it?"

Kreis laughed. "Take a break from your work, Theimer. We've got something to show you, if you're willing to take a night off."

"Wait, what? But it's midnight!"

"It was going to be a sleepless night for you anyway. I know the feeling. But don't worry, just come out with us and you won't be disappointed."

"But my father…"

"We already told your parents," Kreis said. "They said that you were old enough now."

I was about to ask what that meant, but then I figured I would probably shut my mouth and nod to give my assent.

"Great! The plane's waiting outside."

My eyes widened. I loved to ride the _Isara_. Although it was my aunt's creation, and technically the family's property, for all intents and purposes Kreis and our good family friend, Leon Schmidt owned and maintained the aircraft. Periodically they came over to give us rides, which had been expanded to three seats behind the pilot. A night ride…how exciting!

"Get a jacket or two, it'll be chilly. Zaka and I'll get the _Isara_ set up."

I ran back to my room excitedly. In retrospect, I was a bit naïve to think that all this was just a joyride out into the night. I grabbed my coat and ran outside. Kreis and Zaka had just climbed on and set up the motors, tossing me a set of goggles. I clambered up into the back seat and put the goggles on. In a moment we taxied down the road to the flat meadow ahead, and took off.

"Where are we going?" I shouted amid the din. The wind was quite cold, but the night was clear with a beautiful moon out.

"Randgriz!" Kreis yelled back.

Randgriz! What business would I have at Randgriz? My thoughts turned to my sister Isara, who was in the Army. Perhaps we would go visit her?

In perhaps just half an hour, we could see the Castle Randgriz in the distance. They were not headed for the city, though. Instead, I felt the plane lurch a bit as we headed downward towards the flat road below. So we were stopping at Fort Amatriain!

"Are we going to see my sister?"

"Well, that depends if she'll be there to greet you," Zaka replied. "I think she will. She's a girl who knows her family."

We taxied into the newly built air force hangar at the fort, and after we got out, to my surprise, Zaka and Kreis told me to follow them into the tankyard.

"Tank hangar number one…this was where it was all at!" Kreis exclaimed.

"Indeed…now I hear R&D has that shiny nice building to do their weapons manufacturing instead of just doing it in the hangar. Back then there was just one hangar anyway."

It was very dark, for the lights were off. They seemed to be looking around at the tanks, looking for something. I'm not sure how I hadn't figured out what they were looking for at this point. It should have been quite obvious to me at this point. All of a sudden the lights turned on, and there was someone running towards me.

"Theimer!"

It was Is. Even that recent operation she had undergone had not changed her warmth towards her own family. If anything, it had made it stronger. I hugged her back. Approaching behind her was her boyfriend, Tisza.

"Lemme guess," she said excitedly. "Coming for the Edelweiss, right?"

"What?" I exclaimed. I was so surprised, even though I really should have known it. I looked back at Zaka and Kreis, and they nodded.

"But…but it's a tank! It's the most precious family heirloom…"

"Well, it's remained in our possession for far too long," Kreis said. "It's about time the new generation takes the wheel."

"Give her a run, Theimer. We've made sure she runs just as smoothly as she always has."

"They've even upgraded it, I see," Tisza said, scrutinizing the tank, bedecked with Darcsen shawl and Gallian colors. My initial consternation had by this time faded into curiosity. A tank to drive…I had already gotten my driving license, and taken mechanics and tank driving classes. How could this be any different?

"So…I can really drive it?"

My godfathers smiled. "It's yours to keep and maintain."

"Try it out."

I climbed into the cockpit, and noticed immediately that it was very spacious. I had always rebuffed Salix for claiming that he had been born in the Edelweiss, but now I saw that he was right. It was spacious enough to hold at least three people inside. I turned on the engine, working the controls. Everything worked so smoothly…I remembered trying to work the rusty old tin can of a tank in my tank operation class. The Edelweiss was finally alive under my hands. With the utmost care I steered her out of the hangar and into the night. I popped my head out of the hatch.

"This is amazing! It's mine?"

"You are the caretaker of it now. It's about time!" Kreis replied.

"Are you guys going to get in?"

"No!" Isara shouted, much to my surprise. "Make your own way home. There's enough ragnite in there!"

"What?"

I was shocked. I had never really been anywhere alone. I was used to always having a sibling or a friend or some sort of family near me. To venture out into the night alone…it frightened me a bit, even if I was in a tank. Zaka and Kreis seemed to look at each other with some shock as well, but then they turned to me.

"Your sister's right! You're about a man now! Go on, you'll make it safely!"

If they said so…I spotted a glove compartment and found some maps there. Quickly I traced a route to get back to Bruhl on the map.

"All right then! I'll be going back!"

"Good luck! Happy birthday!"

I gave them a final wave, then closed the hatch and secured it. This was going to be a long ride.

I remember that night very vividly, riding on out of the fort and through Gallia alone. I was interested in but not as engrossed in nature as my other siblings were, but I remember just rolling down dirt paths through fields and meadows and forests and seeing how truly beautiful they were. Beauty I could see even through reinforced glass panes.

As I approached Bruhl I debated on whether I should drive through Mill Plaza on the way home, or whether I should take the winding path through the knolls. But then I thought of the travails of the Edelweiss…she deserved to see the home for which she had fought for long ago. I checked my watch. It said 3:27. To wake up my fellow Bruhlers at 3:27, or not?

In a moment of rather boyish wisdom, I decided I would. As I approached the main gate to the city, I noticed that it was closed. Suddenly I remembered that the sentries had probably spotted me rumbling over. I stopped in front and popped my head out of the hatch. A bright light shined in my eyes.

"Who goes there! State your name and purpose, or we will fire!"

"It's Theimer Gunther!"

I paused for a moment, recognizing the voice.

"Hey, Noce! Don't you remember the Edelweiss?"

A shadow obscured the light for a moment.

"The Edelweiss returning to Bruhl again…well! And it looks like the young Gunther."

He was about to make the signal to open the gates when something stayed his hand.

"Look, Theimer, good on getting the Edelweiss back, but it's three in the morning. Don't cause a disruption in the town, all right? Just go home."

I was a bit deflated, but I knew he was right. It was an easy thing to go in reverse and make a turn around. The Edelweiss is surprisingly nimble. And so I sped along the grassy knolls, wondering if I was taking the trail it had taken so long ago in that first attack at Bruhl.

Finally, my home was in sight. It was a dark night indeed, and what a long one too! I turned off the engine, and the hum and the vibrations died off into quiet. I would have opened the hatch and gone back to my room, but the Edelweiss was so comforting and so wonderfully silent that sleep soon overtook me.

And as I rested, so too the Edelweiss rested. She was back home in safe hands.


	7. Liesl Gunther

**Liesl Gunther**

**January 20, 1974**

It is always with some relief that I return to Bruhl with my family…time I can leave the palace behind. It puts the quiet countryside back into a hectic life. I would not want my children to lose sight of the place where generations of Gunthers lived quietly and comfortably.

My eldest, Ophelia, takes a look out of the window.

"Look at all the lion's paw out there! We're almost there!"

She glances back at me, red eyes sparkling with excitement. She has that same sense of excitement I did when I was a girl, and all of a sudden I think back to that eternal struggle we share, the struggle between girl and woman and Valkyrur. What a beautiful thing to see a child of war living a life of peace!

Malcolm is in my husband's arms, sleeping. Poor thing…we did try to tell him to go to bed earlier, but he was simply too excited last night. Then again, Hamlet, my husband, is quite tired as well. He was looking forward to the trip as much as the rest of us were.

I suppose one would think that being Princess of Gallia, Duchess of Randgriz would be living a dream. I wouldn't call it necessarily a good dream. It has its perks, as nobility does, but it also brings its fair share of pressures.

There's the pressure to better the world in some grand way, which my sustainable energy organization thankfully provides. Come to think of it, that's not very much pressure at all, coming from a woman who had started her first company at the age of seven, negotiated a deal with the Army by the age of sixteen, and achieved a double major in ecology and business. No, if anything irks me the most, it's being recognized for nothing, and the fact that I can't step even a foot out of Castle Randgriz without paparazzi harassing me is the real thing I dislike.

But every time I go to Bruhl, I never need to fear when someone far off in the distance calls my name. It's always a friend from school, a friend I've known since childhood, or my own family. Even as our little motorcade drives through town, the Secret Service ever protective, there is no hubbub to see the Prince, see the Princess. We know who is of our own, and we keep to ourselves.

As we approach the Gunther House I can already see them waiting for us. My father and mother are already there, holding hands and waiting for us. Martha is there too, bless her soul, the guardian of three Gunther generations now. By this time Malcolm is awake and already itching to see his grandparents, like Ophelia.

"Grandpa! Grandma!"

As soon as the door opens they burst out, running to their grandparents. My father catches Malcolm as he jumps into his arms as my siblings and I used to. I marvel at this strength, that at fifty-eight he could still heft a bouncing four year old.

"Did you find any new bugs, Gramps?"

"One of my students actually found a really rare dragonfly near the creek! You wanna see it?"

Malcolm whoops with joy as his grandfather carries him into the house. Ophelia opts to hug her grandmother instead. Both of them glow light blue, as two Valkyrur do when they touch. For Ophelia, the glow is a maternal color, not a color to be feared. My mother ruffles her silver hair.

"Have you been a good girl? Good! I've just finished some oatmeal currant cookies, come and have some."

She leads Ophelia into the house, turning back briefly to smile at me. Now only Martha, Hamlet, and I are left outside the house. Although Martha is turning seventy-five, her voice is still strong and comforting.

"Oh, Liesl, it's so great to have you back. And Hamlet too!"

"It's great to see you too, Martha," I say as I hug her. "You've been keeping healthy?"

"Isara's kids were here for the past two weeks keeping me active. Although with your kids I'll certainly be busy!"

She beams happily…she definitely has a long, happy life ahead of her. I hold hands with Hamlet as we walk into the old house. Even he enjoys it in here…Castle Randgriz is beautiful but cold to live in at times. The Gunther House, despite having a few extensions over the years, retains a very warm atmosphere inside from continual baking and years of love.

Coming back home means doing chores, of course. It's the case for all of us siblings: Every time we return, we are expected to chip in and help out here and there. Not that I'm bothered. I help my mother prepare lunch, a wonderful feeling considering I haven't cooked myself in quite a while, although I have the family knack for it. My husband, on the other hand, is outside with the gardener, Tristram. Tristram is Martha's son, taking on the family business as a landscaper. I can imagine them shoveling and hoeing: Two men could not have come from more different paths, and yet both of them share this common passion.

Ophelia sits at the dinner table, watching us cook. She loves to watch us, but unfortunately she inherited her father's woeful lack of cooking savvy. The gift either shows up young, or not at all, I find. She's very quiet though…something must be bothering her.

"Is there something on your mind, Ophelia?" My mother asks.

"Well," Ophelia replies quietly. "Last week Governess Magda took me to the marketplace at Randgriz, and then, when we were there, some people came over and started following us. They started doing a lot of weird stuff…I think they called me a 'God-Child' or something. Why do they do that?"

My mother stops cutting vegetables and looks intently at her. "They do it because there aren't a lot of Valkyria out there. They think that because they're so rare they should be worshipped."

"Why worship us?" Ophelia asks, as if she has just heard something silly. "We're just ordinary people too."

"A lot of people don't realize that, Ophelia. I know that happened to me when I found out I was a Valkyria. I was so confused. I wasn't born looking like you, where people couldn't tell what I was. I looked like everyone else, I acted like everyone else. But people still kept following me around."

"I don't like it when people do that. It makes me feel weird," Ophelia says glumly.

"I know. But Ophelia, if there's something I want you to remember, remember that you can't let other people decide who you are or what you want to be. Find out what you love and keep following it."

"I like piano," she says with a grin. "My piano teacher is already letting me play some really hard pieces."

"Music can be really powerful. Who knows, maybe Aunt Rosie could teach you something."

"I wish I could sing as good as her."

"Keep working on it. You'll get it some time. Oh! I almost forgot. Could you take care of the cooking for a second, Liesl? I'll be right back."

My mother is running off excitedly for something. Now I'm kind of curious to see what's up. Mother rarely gets excited about things like Father. Ophelia looks extremely confused right now. I shrug my shoulders to show that I'm not sure what's going on either.

She's got a little bundle in her arms…oh! Of course. Now I know. Another Gunther rite of passage. She comes over right next to Ophelia, bearing a little white porcavian piglet, about the size of a large potato. Its wings are delicately folded along its back, and its eyes are squeezed shut.

"We just had a litter a week ago, and when I saw this little piglet I knew it was for you. Here, hold it like this."

She carefully passes the piglet to my girl, who cradles it with wonder. Wait a minute...that piglet's coat seems very white, almost shockingly so. Could it be…?

"Your Grandfather says that it's a rare albino porcavian. That's why its coat is so white. It's a lot different than its other siblings, or even any other porcavian, but it's still a little bit of life just like the rest of us. It needs to be taken care of the right way so that it can grow nice and strong."

My mother walks over and takes a little baby bottle full of milk out of an incubator.

"Here, let me show you how to feed it. Just like this…just like you would feed a baby. Maybe when you have a baby it'll help you."

"Let me try!" Ophelia carefully offers the little one the nipple and allows it to suckle, softly stroking its tummy as it feeds.

"It's so cute…"

"And it's yours to keep."

Ophelia's eyes are wide now. "What? Really?"

Her grandmother gives her a smile and a nod. "Be careful, though. I'm only letting you keep the little one because I think you're old enough. When you grow older you're going to have a lot of responsibilities, but one of your biggest ones should always be to care for others. I hope you'll remember that even after you become a grown-up, so you can be responsible like your Mommy here. Deal?"

"Deal!"

The piglet burps a little after it's done, smacking its lips.

"We have to give it a name! Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Your grandfather says it's a boy."

"Oh! Okay! Let's see…I'm going to name him…Chopin!"

And Chopin it is, our newest member of the Randgriz family. Sometimes I wonder what paths we lead our children to, what world we leave behind to our children. Do we give our children the best of the old, and the hope of the new? But now I look at my little girl, a true scion of the Valkyrur, who ages ago would have been but a weapon of war; I look at her smiling and playing with her little porcavian in peace, and I know that the Gallia we have left her is a good one.


	8. Largo Potter

**Largo Potter**

**August 1, 1948**

Every summer when the harvest was getting ready, the Boss and Alicia would come with their little ones over to the farm. A lot of memories came out of these visits, but there's one that really sticks in my mind.

This was when they were all pretty small. Isara, the oldest, was only eleven at the time, and my own granddaughter Lilly was four. I remember that day being a fine day, even for the summer. The berries that year were particularly good that year, I remember.

Watching the kids run over was the cutest thing ever. There was Isara, the oldest one, looking more and more like her mother. Theimer, the brainy one, was closely following her, and Liesl was already running towards her godmother Elle. I picked up Lilly as she ran to me, twirling her around before gently setting her on the ground. And of course, Faldio, the littlest one of them. My own son Milo joined them, the second oldest of them.

Then I saw trouble: They had brought Hans, that stinkin' porker with them. Now don't get me wrong, I love Hans. But that little guy was a real troublemaker. The year previous, he got into my garlic patch and rooted up a half of my crop before I caught him. If I hadn't bonded with that burglar so much during the war, I would have roasted him into a rasher of bacon on the spot. Gruff, the swineherd who lived across the creek, later told me as we surveyed the damage that porcavians love two things—garlic and truffles—and the scent of both are like magnets to them.

I was still wondering how I was going to keep the porcavian out of my garlic when I noticed that he didn't seem his usual self. Usually he was all perky, always ready to run around and flap his wings like crazy. But here he was, shuffling slowly over with his head down. He looked perfectly miserable.

The kids were a little disappointed to see Hans so blue. "Uncle Largo? Do you know what's wrong with Hans?"

"Can't really tell, Liesl. He looks real down."

"But you're a farmer, right?" Lilly asked.

"Whoa, whoa, kid. I'm a veggie farmer, not a swineherd," I replied. Then I had an idea. "Say, maybe Gruff over the creek can help. He's the pig man around these parts. He owns a couple of porcavians. You kids get settled in, and I'll take you kids over to Gruff's place."

A bit later, I had a trail of kids following me, crossing the bridge over to Gruff's farm. It was a good day to take a nice walk. Hans wasn't too keen on walking, but he was way past the age to be carried around like when he was a runt. So we had to lead him along. He cheered up a bit following me, I guess, but whatever was bothering him still made him gloomy.

Gruff's home was a nice little stone building on the edge of the woods. He lived alone; his wife had died a long way back in the flu pandemic after EWI, and his adopted son was already grown up and out of the house. I knocked at his door.

"Ah, Largo. What might ya be doin' here?"

His real name wasn't Gruff, but I think that even the kids could realize where he got the name. He had the jowls of a bulldog, and the look on his face was a dour one by default. He was a good man, if not prone to fits of rage when he was annoyed.

"Hey, Gruff, I've got a bunch of kids here with a pet porcavian and I was wondering…"

I didn't even need to finish my sentence. Gruff had already spotted Hans, and was really giving him the checkup.

"MOIONK!" Hans squealed as he was grabbed by a gruff-looking stranger and pinched and prodded everywhere. Looked pretty invasive, but I trusted Gruff to do his stuff.

"The porcavian's an old one, innit?"

"It's twelve years old now," Isara spoke up.

Gruff's eyes grew wide. "WHAT?"

I was scared for a bit that he would rage all of a sudden, but I think even he knew to tone it down in the presence of six children.

"What's the matter?" Theimer asked.

"Well, it's pretty simple. Your porcavian is lonely. The males mature after two and a half years, not to mention twelve!"

Hans "moinked" miserably, but nodded as if he was agreeing.

"So," I ventured. "You're saying that the pig is—err—lookin' for some female companionship?"

Gruff pulled out a clove of garlic from his pocket and fed it to Hans, stroking his head. The porcavian sniffed it suspiciously and then munched it slowly. "Well, that's all he needs, provided you guys are willing to keep another porcavian outside. Come over here."

We walked out to what appeared to be a bunch of doghouses in the back. Gruff whistled, but it wasn't your average whistle. It sounded like a sequence of notes or something, like a little tune. I assumed he had a special call for each porcavian, because only one porcavian trotted out from their house and stood at attention.

"This here's Imelda. She's five or so years old, and I haven't decided who to pair her up with yet. You can take her with you and keep the two of 'em together for two weeks, give or take."

I thanked Gruff and was about to leave with the two porcavians and the kids when one of them asked me the question:

"Largo, what's Hans and Imelda going to do with each other?"

I froze in my steps.

"Well! Uh…umm…err…" I was breaking into a sweat. Lilly was looking up at me with extremely curious eyes, and the other kids were watching me with similar interest.

"Uhh…well, kids, they…uh…"

I looked helplessly at Gruff, who for once didn't look so angry. He looked like he was going to laugh, actually.

"Go on, carry on."

"Maybe he can stay here?"

The kids replied in protest. "Aww, Uncle Largo!"

"Err, okay, okay. Come on, Hans, Imelda!"

The two porcavians had been nosing each other funnily, but at the sound of my voice they trotted over to me. In retrospect, it was pretty cute, but I was worried out of my wits.

As the kids and the two porkers started to walk back I whispered to Gruff: "Porcavians are nocturnal, right?"

"Well, they are, but I've no guarantee they'll do their business at night. If they're pretty attracted to each other, like I think these two are, who knows…maybe in broad daylight…"

He laughed, not because of porcavians, but at my face as my eyes went bigger than saucers. I was pretty darn creeped out.

* * *

All that day, I was out of it. Normally I'd be drilling the Boss Man hard in the carrot and cabbage patch, but my mind was so preoccupied on keeping a look out on those two pigs (who were now running and playing with each other) that he worked even harder, afraid that something was up. At the dinner table, even though Alicia cooked, I barely had an appetite, instead looking out the dining room window at those two darned pigs hopping around the field.

For the night I decided to let the dog in and let the two take the doghouse. That should be safe…but I still felt uneasy. What if one of the kids decided to get a drink, and looked out the window, and the two pigs were outside doing—

"Largo, you really need to calm down," said Elle with a chuckle as she got into bed beside me.

"Sorry, Elle, but I'm just worried. It's those…pigs! What if my little Lilly looks out and sees…"

"Sees what?"

"Sees those pigs…err…doing something!"

Elle laughed out loud. "Oh, Largo, you're so silly sometimes. Just don't worry about it. I'm sure if the kids see something, then Welkin will gladly offer them the kid-friendly explanation of it all. Don't be such a worrywart!"

I sighed. "Fine, fine. I'll go to sleep."

* * *

The next morning, we all sat together at the breakfast table.

"Did you kids have a good night?" Alicia asked as she laid a plate of steaming blueberry pancakes at the table.

"Yeah!" Lilly said. "I saw something really cool happened last night!"

I sprayed my milk I was drinking out of my mouth, spluttering.

"Umm…Largo? Are you okay?"

"Oh, umm, yeah, I'm fine Lilly. What did you see?" I was getting really anxious. Elle was giving me a bit of a reprimanding look, but I ignored her.

"I was kinda thirsty and I went downstairs to get a drink, but then I looked out the window and saw…"

"Saw what? What did you see?"

"I saw a white-winged moth on the window!"

I stayed there for a brief moment all tensed up, and then I relaxed. Whew! Crisis averted.

And of course, now it was Welkin's turn to get all excited. "Wow! A white-winged moth?"

"Yeah! I wanted to catch it but I didn't have a net, and it was kind of cold outside. I think that's why Hans and Imelda were all running around and wrestling each other outside. They were probably just warming up."

I dropped my mug this time.

"Oh…umm…sorry! I'm kinda clumsy today, heh heh…" I said as I tried to recover. "Here, I'll pick it up."

"That's interesting too, Lilly. I guess they like each other enough to depend on each other!"

"Yeah, they did it for a while, but it looked like Hans won in the end. Then they went back to go to sleep, I think."

As I swept the broken shards into a dustpan, my mind was doing damage control. I had to get to Gruff today…

* * *

Later, I arrived at Gruff's place by myself with Hans and Imelda. It seemed that they couldn't stop looking at each other. Lovebirds.

"Ah, Largo! How are Hans and Imelda?"

"Terrible, Gruff! I think my sweet innocent Lilly just got corrupted!"

Gruff's face showed his incredible amusement again. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, she said those porcavians were wrestling each other last night. What was going on there?"

He laughed. "Relax, Largo. It's a courtship ritual. They wrestle each other, and if the male wins, then they go back to their den and mate. I should have probably told you that they only do that in their den when no one's around."

"Yeah, you would have saved me ten years of my life," I said sourly. "So…is Imelda returning to you?"

"Nope, she's going wherever Hans goes now. Once they're together a female porcavian always stays in the territory of the male. They hit it off surprisingly well, I think."

Hans and Imelda were nuzzling each other, happy. It was actually pretty cute.

"Tell the kids to take good care of them. Domesticated porcavians get pretty loyal with one another, not like the wild ones. Oh, and Largo?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the laugh. I think even an old grouch like me can sometimes be humored pretty darn good!"


End file.
